Hunger Games: POV
by Flameofthesoul
Summary: While Katniss went through a lot of emotional stress during the games, a LOT was happening back in the Districts. Re-telling of the story, staring with Gale in the first chapter.   Thank you for all the reviews on my first story! You guys are awesome :D
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is my first story. I hope you guys like it. I don't know where it's going to go, exactly, but here's how I had the idea.**

**When I was reading The Hunger Games, I started to wonder – what were her family and friends thinking at home, watching The Games?**

**Because this answer was never really supplied in the two books I've read so far, I'm going to try writing it myself. **** Please review it and let me know if I should continue!**

**-Flameofthesoul**

It was early morning when I awoke that day, and Rory, Posy and Vick were still asleep. I didn't notice that my mother was already awake, filling her role as the Districts laundress, until I had nearly swept out of the door.

"Good morning, Gale." She said cheerfully, smiling at me. Somehow, even now, on the day of the Reaping, she could be happy….or perhaps not. I noted the dark rims to her eyes, her slightly pink face. She'd been crying, nervous, as I was, about what the day would hold.

I kept up the fragile pretense of cheeriness, smiling tightly and hugging my mother, before grabbing my hunting knife, bow and sheath of home-made arrows and heading towards the hole in the electric fence.

It was perfectly fine to climb through it. The Capitol never bothered to spare any electricity for us, probably assuming that we would be too frightened of living alone with wild animals to try to leave the District.

They were right of course. As far as I knew, Katniss and I were the only ones who dared risk our necks in the forest, other than our fathers, who both died in mine explosion years ago.

I saw a fat squirrel skitter across the cobblestones in front of me, and I immediately glanced around.

Nobody was looking.

Good.

I whipped out my knife and tossed it, just in time. The sharp blade bit into his neck, and if you have to die, a slit throat is one of the quickest ways.

I smiled to myself, pleased. This would be payment enough for breakfast if I stopped by the bakery. Such good fortune on such a dreaded day was both surprising and welcome.

I turned, headed towards the stalls and shops, absorbed in thought, until I stopped at the Mellarks'.

I glanced in through the large display window, and seeing Mrs. Mellark behind the register, quickly walked around back, to the door adjoining the kitchen. My sales weren't as good when I dealt with her – if I got anything at all, it was always either burnt or stale. I think it was because I'm from the Seam and she'd lived all her live in the town, disgusted by the poverty we lived in.

I knocked quietly on the door to the bakery, and Mr. Mellark opened it with a broad smile.

"Hello Gale, what do you have for me today?" He asked.

He seemed in cheerful mood. That was good. I could manipulate that if his wife happened to come in.

I pulled the squirrel out of my game bag and held it aloft for inspection.

"Squirrel. It's fresh too, just killed. I'd trade it to you for only a quarter loaf, as long as it's not burnt." I said, gesturing to the stacks of bread dough visible through the oven's glass door.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, turning the meat over, checking for any signs of previous infections or wounds that would render it inedible. To my relief, he found none.

"Alright then, son. I can't pass up a deal as good as that one with a clear conscience, now can I?" He said, taking the squirrel.

Then he turned, and with a look of confidentiality, he said loudly, "Oh my, I just remembered, I still have a loaf here that came out a little lopsided….unfit for selling. Would you throw it out for the pigs when you leave? I don't know if I have the time…."

He pressed a full loaf of warm, perfectly molded bread into my hand. I glanced up at him in astonishment, and he whispered, "This is a sad day for us all, boy, and I'll do what I can to brighten it. Good luck hunting today." And with a somber shake of my hand, he gently pushed me out the door and on my way.

I laughed at my own luck, and raced through the hole in the fence to share the news with Katniss.

I slipped the bread into my game bag, protecting it from leaves and branches as I climbed through the thicket of berry bushes that hide our meeting place from sight.

Katniss arrived only a few moments after I did, and upon seeing me, she smiled. Hers was one of the few smiles I usually returned, and return it I did.

"Hey, Catnip." I said, grinning. Although that wasn't her real name, that was what I called her, because the first time I'd met her, nearly 5 years ago now, she had been so shy in telling me her name that that was what it had sounded like.

"Look what I shot." I held up the bread, one of my arrows stuck in the crust, and Katniss laughed, partially at my joke, and partially in disbelief.

She took the loaf from my hands, plucked the arrow from it as gingerly as she did from an animal, not wanting to damage the bread.

"Mm, still warm," Katniss said, her voice reverent, breathing in the scent. "What did it cost you?"

I casually flipped some hair out my eyes, showing off a little. "Just a squirrel. Think the old man was feeling sentimental this morning. Even wished me luck."

"Well, we all feel a little closer today, don't we?" She said, pulling something from her own bag. "Prim left us a cheese."

I grinned brightly. "Thank you, Prim. We'll have a real feast."

The mixture of my own upbeat statement and the looming shadow of today's events reminded me of someone.

I quickly adopted a Capitol accent, mimicking Effie Trinket, the fake, giggly, Capitol woman who came once a year to read the names at the Reaping.

"I almost forgot!" I cried, "Happy Hunger Games!"

And then, plucking five or six of the tiny blackberries off of the bushes surrounding us, I tossed them up in the air over Katniss's head for her to catch, adding, "And may the odds…." She caught the berries in her mouth and joined in, laughing, "….be ever in your favor!"

I sat down to cut the bread, thinking how I wished these moments could last forever, how Effie Trinket, and President Snow and the Games were all distant threats that cant affect us here, in the woods, just the two of us.

Then it occurred to me. If we stayed here, _tried _to make this last, we could survive just fine.

We can hunt, climb trees, make fires; Katniss even told me once that there was a lake here.

"We could make it you know." I said, softly.

She turned to me, humor fading quickly from her eyes.

"What?"

"Leave the District. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Where we left off:**

**We can hunt, climb trees, make fires; Katniss even told me once that there was a lake here.**

**"We could make it you know." I said, softly.**

**She turned to me, humor fading quickly from her eyes.**

**"What?"**

**"Leave the District. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it."**

Katniss looked so taken aback, even shocked, that I immediately backpedaled.

"If we didn't have so many kids," I added, thinking of her sister, Prim, and my own siblings.

Katniss sighed, fiddling with her braid.

"I never want to have kids," she said, thinking, I'm sure, of the Games.

"I might," I answered, "If I didn't live here."

"But you do." Katniss pointed out.

I didn't relish the opportunity to be reminded, and maybe I spoke a little harshly, but I was suddenly tired of the way the conversation was going.

"Forget it."

I pushed the bread back into my bag, deciding to save it for dinner tonight.

After a brief silence, each of us thinking our own thoughts, Katniss spoke up in a forcefully cheerful voice.

"What do you want to do?"

I considered. "Let's fish at the lake. We can leave our poles and gather in the woods. Get something nice for tonight."

We left the woods that afternoon with plenty of fish, strawberries and meat, heading, as was the usual, in the direction of The Hob, where we traded eight of our fish for more bread (of a lesser quality, but bread all the same) and salt, and sold some wild dog to Greasy Sae, our only consistent customer for that kind of meat.

Nobody ever _meant _to shoot dogs, but if a pack of them started stalking you, you have little choice, and for some of the people of the Seam, meat is meat.

Then we head down to the mayor's house to sell some of our strawberries, knowing he both likes them and will pay a better price than the people from the Hob can afford.

Madge, the mayor's daughter, answers the door. She is Katniss's age, only two years younger than I am, but has never had her name in the Reaping more than the standard amount of times.

Of course she hasn't. She can afford to go without tesserae.

"Pretty dress," I said, looking at the white velvet dress she wore. It was expensive, which was obvious even to eyes as untrained to things of high value as mine were. I don't know why I said it, because although it _was_ a nice dress, I certainly wouldn't have said so to Katniss or Prim had either of them been able to wear it today.

I think it was because it was a bit of a symbol, intentional or otherwise, a sign that proclaimed loudly, "_I'm not going to the Games. You, maybe, but I'm safe._"

That wasn't guaranteed, of course, but it might as well have been.

Madge and Katniss were both looking at me at this point, both seeming confused, but Katniss maybe a little less so. I think she knew why I'd said it.

Madge smiled, and said "Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"You won't be going to the Capitol," I said coolly. "What can you have, five entries? I had six when I was twelve years old."

"That's not her fault." Katniss said, glancing down.

Madge had fallen silent, her face a mask.

Good, better than pity or pride, the two inevitable reactions.

"No, it's no one's fault. Just the way it is." I said.

Madge inhaled deeply, and then put the money for the berries into Katniss's hand.

"Good luck, Katniss." She said, pointedly omitting my name from mention.

"You too." Katniss replied, her eyes flitting between us.

The walk to the seam was quiet, neither of us speaking. I don't know what Katniss thought of my outburst, but I was feeling a little ashamed of it already, despite how justified my own frustration might be.

Katniss had been right, after all. It wasn't Madge's fault that her parents were wealthy. She could have just as easily been born into a Seam family, and had that happened, who knows? She might even be hunting with us now, dreading the calling of the names.

Our names had been entered many times since we had become eligible for reaping, Katniss close to twenty times, myself forty two, on the premise that living with a growing chance of death in the Games was better than living with a much more quickly growing chance of death by starvation, and the fact that there were people who didn't have to sacrifice themselves as much as we did both angered and frustrated me.

My thoughts were interrupted when we reached the Seam, and we both split the spoils of the day evenly – salt, fish, greens, a few loaves of bread, the remainders of the strawberries, and the money Madge and Greasy Sae had given us for their purchases.

After we had each taken our share, we stood and regarded each other.

"See you in the square," Katniss said.

"Wear something pretty." I replied flatly.

I watched her go, and then headed in the direction of my house, thinking, with a growing sense of dread, of the future tributes, and how their fate relied on Effie Trinket pulling someone else's name out of the bowl.


	3. Chapter 3

**Prim's Perspective**

I'd lain in a cloud of fitful sleep for hours, never quite closing my eyes, but not sure if they were open either.

When Katniss awoke and left to go hunting that morning, I abandoned all attempts at sleep and got up, beginning my household duties.

Buttercup, my lovely cat, ambled around my ankles, asking for scraps of food that I couldn't yet give her.

I stroked the fur between her shoulder blades, smiling.

Katniss had given Buttercup to me when she was just a kitten, and had regretted it ever since.

Despite her cheerful demeanor when she's around me, she spits and yowls whenever anyone else comes near. Katniss thinks it's because Buttercup is the epitome of all evil, but it could have something to do with the fact that she threatens to drown her much more often than is really necessary.

I straighten, opening the back door, and reveal Lady, my goat and another gift from Katniss, although this one was likely given out of the need for another food source and money revenue than pure kindness.

Lady, as her name implies, is a beautiful Lady goat, with a gaunt face and a plump body that supplied goat's milk, cheese and other dairy for Buttercup, Mother, Katniss and I.

I sat on my little wooden stool to milk Lady, and when I returned to the house with a full pail for making cheese, Mother had woken and was scrubbing down the table in preparation for anyone in need of medical help today.

My mother and I ran the one and only working apothecary in the Seam, and received more patients than the one in the town because of the good name my grandparents had established and my mother and I tried so hard to live up to.

Usually, we didn't get very many patients on Reaping day, because everyone is too fearful of being called to the Games to anger the Peacekeepers.

I lifted the heavy pail on the table with effort, and the milk sloshed against the sides.

I was so nervous about today, my first year in which I was eligible for the Reaping, that my hands were shaking, but I couldn't let Mother know that. She was already so unstable after what had happened with Father, that any unexpected show of fear in Katniss or I sets her right off, shaking and sobbing in the rocking chair in the corner.

I greeted my mother cheerfully as I poured part of the milk into the butter churn.

I put the nearly empty pail on the floor for Buttercup, and she purred and mewed her thanks.

"Hello, Mother. Good morning." I greeted her.  
"Good morning, Prim. How did you sleep?"  
"Well," I lied. "And you?"  
"About the same." She mumbled evasively.

We went through this same exchange every morning, always with the same replies.

That was part of why I was surprised by what she said next.

"I had terrible dreams last night, Prim. I dreamt that you were called into the Games today, you and Gale both, and Katniss and Hazelle and I watched you both die, forced to kill each other." She said it with a wavering voice, speaking in the same tone she used whenever she spoke of Father: The tone that meant that she was mourning a great loss, if not prematurely in this situation.

I stopped operating the churn to stare at her, shocked that she would admit her premonition to me, of all people, but she only gazed back, eyes empty, uncomprehending.

She didn't have a conscience anymore. She didn't think about what pain she might inflict on others, just blurted out words when she needed comfort, as a young child might.

I reached out and touched her shoulder, smiling a fake smile, trying to provide comfort to both her and myself.

"Mother, I only have one entry in the bowl. There's a girl in my class, Leanna Fletch, who has more than eight already."

It was true. Poor Leanna had told me about it only a few days previous, terrified that she would be called on, but unwilling to admit her family's need for tesserae to anyone she knew personally.

Katniss had never allowed me to sign up for tesserae, and she hadn't either in a while, thanks to her growing expertise in hunting.

My mother smiled wanly, and then paused.

"What about Katniss and Gale?" She asked, concerned again.

"They'll be alright. They haven't been called yet, have they? If they can survive this long, they can survive again." I insisted. This thin excuse was only a mimicry of logic, a translucent veil that very barely hid the truth, and I could easily see through it myself.

Mother however laughed, and then said only, "Ohh," as if scolding herself for being foolish, and then began scrubbing down the countertop again.

The work of the day was tiresome, and the usual joy I found in my life was peppered with doubt, my own thoughts mirroring those of my mother's.

Within a few hours however, Katniss had returned home with the day's load of food.

Berries, fish, meat, even warm, inviting bread, which Katniss accredited to Gale's hunting and Mr. Mellark's kindness.

Assuming none of our loved ones were called today, we would surely have a nicely assembled dinner.

It was tradition that every family saves their best food, and in families wealthy enough to have two sets of plates, their best plates and cutlery for the dinner on Reaping day.

Whether it's a celebration or a time of mourning is entirely up to chance.

We all changed into clean dresses, scrubbed our faces and combed our hair, and then walked silently down the road to the town's center, where a large stage had been erected in front of the Justice Building.

I looked around the crowd and spotted Leevy, a neighbor of ours, in a pink dress and pigtails.

Madge, the mayor's daughter, in a white gown trailing to the floor, stood near the stage.

Leanna Fletch was standing towards the center of the throng, eyes rimmed red from crying, her face pale.

Gale, Rory, Vick, Posy and Hazelle all stood in a tight knot about ten feet from the stage.

Various other forms swam around me - people from the town, like Delly Cartwright, who was all dressed up in a pale blue dress and white stockings, and Peeta Mellark and his brothers, all three wearing matching black suits.

People from the Hob, like Greasy Sae and Ripper, who I didn't know personally, but Katniss traded with and sold to often, so they were, in a way, held accountable for the fact that we hadn't yet died of starvation.

Even certain Peacekeepers, like Darius and Cray, strolling about in brown Peacekeeper uniforms.

All were recognizable amidst the sea of faces.

I closed my eyes and felt a warm tear drop off of my eyelashes and roll down my cheek.

I knew that if I were called, I wouldn't be strong or cunning enough to even try defeat my opponents, let alone kill them.

This moment might be my last as a mere face among the people of District 12, I thought as Effie Trinket, the highly over charismatic woman who called the names every year, mounted the stage.

In a matter of minutes, I could be a tribute, I thought as Effie introduced Haymitch, a drunken and unstable man who was, unfortunately, Twelve's only victor, and thus this year's unfortunate tributes' mentor and one link to civilization and possible survival.

In a matter of hours, I could be in the Capitol; my every move televised and scripted, thought as Effie took the bowl filled with girls' names from the mayor.

In a matter of days, I'd be dead, I thought as Effie put her hand in the bowl.

The crowd had hushed, as if every resident of the district had suddenly held their breath, and I gripped my Mother's and Katniss's hands tightly.

Effie pulled out a slip of paper with a big grin, as if this were an honor rather than a death sentence, and read out a name.

A familiar name.

My name.

"Primrose Everdeen!" She announced. 


End file.
